Title: Frequency in Measures (Part III)
Rated: R
Pairing: KandaxAllen
Comments: Done! For theme set I at centi_porn. I suck at 100 words LOL

Shiver

Allen is suited for winter, when the snow falls in drifts and Allen wanders down the wooded paths and disappears between the bleached trees. It is his perfect camouflage.

Kanda pulls on his coat and follows the fading footprints. Around the bend, where the trees stand close and the snow spins in icy whorls around their bases, Kanda pauses.

Allen is draped against the trunk of an old willow (like a golden fleece, a grail, a fabled fountain to flush the fetor of death that weight their shoulders). His legs are parted, an open invitation, and he has one hand shoved beneath the waist of his pants.

“Insane,” Kanda says, and ignores the shiver that rides his spine.

Melt

He steps quietly around raised roots, hidden beneath their winter coats that glitter like stardust in the moonlight. Allen regards him, eyes unreadable beneath pale lashes and the snowflakes that collect at their feathery tips.

Allen slips his hand free of his pants and pushes away from the tree, ducking beneath its creeping branches that glisten like icicles.

“Such an idiot,” Kanda says, before drawing Allen against him, arms circling Allen’s shoulders and melting the snow that has gathered there.

He sneers, despite his thumb that sweeps gently at the dusting of ice crystals across Allen’s cheekbone. Allen tilts his head expectantly, and Kanda pulls him closer until their breaths fog the air between their mouths and Allen’s lips flush pink and warm.

Blossom

Hopeless. He examines the word with practiced indifference, turning it again in his mind like worn pages in a book kept bound with little more than adhesive and string. With eyes closed and Allen sprawled across his chest (unintentionally encompassing even in sleep), he can almost pretend that he doesn’t believe everything they do is an exercise in futility.

Allen stirs against him, lips moving without sound against Kanda’s shoulder and thigh slipping across Kanda’s lap. A warm finger brushes the pinched skin between his brows.

“Stop that,” Allen says, voice sluggish.

With a sigh, Kanda flips them over. He rolls his hips, watches Allen’s body arch off the bend, and ignores the taunt of petals that creep into his periphery.

Sweet

“I don’t like sweets.”

“But I do,” Allen says, and places the small square of candy at the center of Kanda’s chest so that it appears perched atop the ink that stretches over his otherwise unblemished skin.

Kanda scowls at it. “It’s melting on me.”

“I spent all morning making these with Jerry.” Allen trails the chocolate across his chest, tracing the black lines of his tattoo. Kanda makes a strangled sound. “Are you going to eat them or not?”

“No.” He eyes the mess on him with a curl of his lip.

“Fine, I’ll eat them then,” Allen says and drags his tongue across a stained nipple.

Deep

“If you slow me down,” he had said once, “don’t think I won’t leave you behind.”

Allen slumps against his side, his stumbling feet hindering more than helping. Kanda growls something that sounds like a curse and a prayer and hauls Allen upright again.

“Just a few more miles,” he says. Allen’s fingers claw into Kanda’s back and shoulder with the strength absent in his legs, his nails biting even through Kanda’s clothes, as if to demonstrate how deeply entwined they are—like an akuma, sliding into his skin and making himself at home in the spaces between his ribs.

Kanda hates it, but drags Allen along all the same, gripping him like a lifeline instead of the other way around, a compass, a guiding star. (A trail of breadcrumbs, a string of yarn—all paths lead to—)

The End